


Lovely Secrets

by AdriYay



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dorks in Love, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Stan can draw, Stan loves birds, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriYay/pseuds/AdriYay
Summary: I hope you enjoyed!!! It took me an afternoon of ignoring my responsibilities to write this saklfjsaThere's a word in french (don't worry I speak a bit of french) because for some reason I felt like it fit Stan I DONT KNOWdevoir = homework





	Lovely Secrets

Richie Tozier can’t find a way to properly express his feelings. His mind goes from “I hate you why are you so perfect” to “you’re the light of my life I love you”. Having a hyperactive mind really makes things complicated, with a million thoughts flashing inside him and having his words fight over his tongue to slip out of his mouth.

Stanley is the guy he loves, the guy that makes him want to get up in the morning, a guy he sometimes hates because he can’t stand the powerful wave of emotions that rip into his heart whenever he looks at him. He keeps a hidden folder of Stan’s pictures inside a secret app on his phone. He looks at them when he can’t sleep, can’t get his rushing thoughts to slow down for long enough to let him close his eyes and have a peaceful night. 

On those occasions, he rolls one more time to look at his nightstand and debates for a minute or two whether he should indulge in those repressed romantic thoughts about a certain guy he probably shouldn’t think of as more than a friend or not. His heart always wins the debate. So he gets an arm out of the covers, feeling the chill air hit his warm skin, and reaches out for his phone. He lays his phone on the pillow so he doesn’t have to move his neck in a weird way, and he puts the code in.

   7826

   The light always makes him nearly go blind for a second, but he lowers it as fast as he can. As soon as it’s down and not really making his eyes instinctively close, he reaches to the top right with his thumb and touches the app that holds the pictures. He introduces another password,

   5683

   and finally, he sees a lot of Stanleys in various squares on the screen. He smiles and begins scrolling down. God, Stanley is so beautiful, he’s perfect, he’s what Richie would like to see beside his pillow whenever he woke up, the face he could look up to and the body he could hug close to his own. And Richie whispers, after a small gasp, after the pang of love and adoration really hits him, something along the lines of “By God, Stanley Uris, what are you doing to me?”. Richie feels giddy and warm for a few minutes; he blocks his phone again, rolls over to look at the ceiling and, like a teenage girl with a crush, he lays his phone on his chest, close to his heart, and sighs.

 

He doesn’t think he has ever loved anyone as much as he loves Stan.

 

But then, then he thinks about how Stan could never love him back. How he never will. His small smile and soft eyes that reflected the affection he was feeling slowly turn into a trembling lower lip and tear-filled eyes that could make anyone feel the hopelessness that replaced the happiness in his heart. His chest starts hurting and he sighs again, trying to hold back tears and getting his feet back on the ground after letting himself fly for even just a couple of seconds. He allows a few tears to roll down his cheeks into the pillow and maybe a few silent sobs to shake his shoulders, but he always ends up putting his phone on the nightstand and turning back to a fetal position. Sadness sometimes makes his thoughts and slow down; that and the exhaustion of crying finally let him drift to sleep.

 

That’s how many of his nights go. But the next day he wakes up with a small remaining ache that he can get to drift away during the first few hours of being awake.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
Stanley, on the other side, doesn’t really keep his feelings hidden. He hasn’t told anyone, that’s a fact, but he can’t keep them inside. He has to let them out somehow, even if he can’t tell the one guy who creates the turmoil inside him.

So he draws. He draws and draws until his wrist hurts and his mind is filled with the million colors he uses and the million other colors that hide inside his head just waiting to let themselves show at any chance they have. And those chances seem to be whenever Richie giggles, or laughs loudly, or tells a stupid joke, or starts jumping around, or leans against Stanley’s shoulder, or plays with Stan’s hair, or-

 

or when he looks into Richie’s eyes, so full of color and joy when they hang out together. Stan likes to think his friend feels that joy when he’s with him, that he might be the reason why Richie looks so happy. Oh, but he can only fantasize. And draw, of course.

He learned to draw with the graceful and colorful shapes of all the birds in his Bird Book. He had a small notebook full of bird drawings that lies on his desk by the bed. It’s one of the things he’s most proud of, hands down. But he dedicates a secret one to Richie, one he leaves inside a locked drawer whose silver key he keeps under his bed. One he only takes out when he’s all alone, early morning or late night. In it, he puts all of the gorgeous images that he gets when he looks at Richie, he always likes to put extra detail on his freckles or how the sides of his eyes scrunch up whenever he smiles. He doesn’t mind the glasses; he used to think they were horrendous, but he has changed his mind since he started looking at his friend in a different way. He now actually loves those glasses because they make his eyes look bigger than they actually are, and there’s nothing he loves more than looking straight into them.

When he’s drawing, he sometimes stops and looks through his old drawings. They’re like his own pictures of Richie, how his eyes see the love of his life. He sighs and leans his chin on the palm of his hand. Anyone who looked at him would think he looks like a teenager in love, and they’re absolutely right. He can’t be more deeply in love with Richard Tozier, he already loves him with all his heart and might. There’s no turning back from there.

He always blocks out the thoughts of Richie not loving him back, of him being possibly disgusted if he ever found out. He prefers to focus on the happy things, the amazing sensation of floating through the clouds that comes with his undying love. Some specific nights, though, his heart feels like it's being ripped out of his chest and he can’t deny it, he can’t ignore it… his love, as big and overwhelming as it is, isn’t and will never be reciprocated. He has to accept it, and he probably has to get over it, but frankly, he doesn’t want to. His love reaches so far that even though he’s suffering, he doesn’t want to forget how beautiful Richie looks all the time. He doesn’t want to forget the fluttering of his heart or the happy, wishful giggles that leave his chest when he’s daydreaming about being with Richie. It might kill him, but he refuses to let go.

  


 

* * *

 

 

 

Stanley invites Richie over one day, a free Wednesday they have, and they spend the whole afternoon eating snacks and listening to music, Richie lying on Stan’s bed and Stan sitting on the desk chair. They snicker back and forth, as they always do, but Richie also listens to Stan when, between pages, he finds an amazing and colorful bird.

“Richie”

“What's up?”

“Look at this bird!” Richie leans over the bed to look at the big picture that Stan put in front of him.

“Tha’ surey looka like a daymn fine birdie”

“Hush, Richie. Look, it’s called the _Eumomota superciliosa_ , and apparently she lives around Yucatán and Costa Rica. Look at all of its colors, Rich, green, red, orange, and a little bit of blue.”

“Uh, huh"

“Her tail!!! Rich, look at it!”

 “I’m looking at it!”

But Richie isn’t, he’s looking at Stan. He loves to see how his friend gets all excited about birds he loves and how he enjoy showing them to others. His eyes seem to be brighter, more full of life and with an amazement that comes from nothing else than from his biggest passion. He’s truly lovely to look at.  
 

 

After a lot of bird talk and more snacks, Stan joins Richie on the bed and they lie next to each other, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hey, Stan?”

“Yes?”

“You’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

“Aww, Rich, you’re going to make me cry!”

“Oh, my precious, I would never make you cry on purpose! Please forgive me, I am not worthy of your-”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Stan laughs.

“Alright alright, but I’m serious, Stan, you’re important to me.”

Stan was sort of shocked at Richie’s serious tone; he wasn’t serious often, so he decided not to joke around anymore (and to ignore the warm feeling that was building up in his chest, along with the butterflies flying inside his stomach) and actually reply the way he was meant to.

“You’re my best friend, too, Richie. Always remember that.”

 

 

 

* * *

  

 

 

After that, they start hanging out at Stan’s place more. Richie never offers his house, and Stan doesn’t say anything about it; he understands.

They spend a lot of hangouts listening to their shared playlist and discovering new music, eating a lot of snacks and even doing homework, since not all of their afternoons are devoir-free. They both are just happy to spend time with the other.

On this particular day, they don’t walk back to Stan’s house after school like they usually do. Richie said he had to take care of something at his place, so that left Stan to step into his room in one of the few alone moments he’s had in about a month. He loved that Richie came really often, don’t get him wrong, but he hasn’t had much time to draw. He still has a lot of pictures of Richie inside his head, and he somehow has to find a moment to put them into paper so he won’t explode. This is the perfect time.

He sits on his desk chair and makes it roll over to the bed. He takes out the key from under the mattress and makes his way back to the desk. Carefully, he unlocks the drawer and places the key inside after taking the notebook out so he wouldn’t lose it. He then grabs a pencil and starts sketching this image of Richie lying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling with sleepy eyes. One of their hangouts, yeah. He carefully traces the graceful lines of the boy’s face, making sure to respect the beauty that comes with them. He is so entranced in the sketch, drawing it the best way he could, that he almost misses the insistent knocking on the door of his house.

“Stan? Stanleeey! Let down your hair, my love!”

“Coming!” Stanley quickly puts his notebook back into the drawer and pushes it close as fast as he can before walking out of his room.

“Oooh, that’s what Eddie’s m-”

The bird-loving boy flings the door open before Richie could finish his line, effectively cutting him off. “You sure should be glad Eddie isn’t here.”

“Oh, that Eddie Spaghetti." 

Stan laughed and followed Rich into his room. Richie took his usual place on the bed and Stan sat back down on the chair.

“Do you want anything to drink? Eat?”

“Actually, could you get me a glass of water, please? I’m soo thirsty, Stanley! Don’t let me die here!”

“You won’t die, genius. I'll be right back.”

"My savior!"

His friend leaves for a much-needed glass of water and Richie stays on the bed, looking around the room. Suddenly, he notices the drawer on the side of Stan’s old desk, the one that he always keeps locked, open by only a small line. It isn’t fully closed, which means Stan maybe put something in there that he was using before Richie arrived. So he stands up and walks over to it,

“Ohoho, Stan, what are you hiding in there”

Stan heard him talk, “What did you say, Rich?”, he called from downstairs.

“Nothing at all, Stanny boy!”, Richie said back.

He continues snooping and opens the drawer all the way. A part of his mind tells him he should leave it, Stan must keep it closed for a reason, but he couldn’t stop himself. He sees a lonely small notebook that wasn’t neatly put there like Stanley would usually put everything. He picks it up and looks at both sides of it, noticing the soft material of the cover. He opens it and

 

oh.

 

 

oh _god_

 

 

He holds his breath for a few seconds and then skims through the notebook, his heartbeat raising over 100 beats per minute and his eyes running through the contents quickly. The notebook, Stan’s notebook, is full of Richie’s face. His own face from different angles, so well traced and colored. He feels a weird pressure on his chest. Both confusion and hope start clouding his mind; he doesn’t know what to think.

 

He doesn’t know what he’s seeing.

 

Before he figures out what’s going on before his eyes, he hears a loud gasp behind him. Shit. He whips around to look at Stan, his best friend, the artist that drew him over and over in a secret notebook he kept hidden, his first and only love. Stan doesn’t look happy, he looks horrified. He looks at the open notebook in Richie’s hands and he looks back at Richie’s face. His shocked expression would make Richie laugh in another situation, but not right now.

All of the sudden, a loud noise makes Richie jump and nearly drop the book. Stan dropped the glass of water and now the water is spilling all over the floor. _Shit,_ Richie thinks. He closes the notebook and puts it on the desk before rushing over to take care of the broken glass and the growing puddle of clear water.

But Stan just stands there, looking at the desk, feeling like it betrayed him, the trust he put in it to hide that damn notebook. He can also see Richie moving forward to help with the glass that slipped out from his right hand, and he takes a few more seconds to think about what could happen, what Richie would say, if he would think he’s creepy for doing that and leave or if he…

He can’t get his hopes up. So Stanley shakes his head and comes back to the real world and steps out of the puddle that had formed around his feet. 

“Fuck, I’m going to make everything wet now,” he cursed, and he decides to bring his right foot up to take out the shoe before doing the same thing with the left one, careful not to step into the water.

He places them carefully somewhere near the stairs and he runs into the bathroom, looking for some towels. His mom might hate him for this, actually. But he still runs back to where Richie is picking up the glass shards and put the towel over the glass-free water.

 

During the cleaning process, Stanley makes sure not to look at Richie and not to think about what had caused the glass to fall. He keeps it out of his mind, fooling himself into thinking that it had only been an accident, that he tripped on the way into the bedroom and that’s why he has a dripping wet towel in his hands, even if the illusion only lasts for a few short minutes.

Meanwhile, Richie’s thoughts are going a thousand miles per hour and he is fighting very hard not to say anything stupid, not to say anything in general. He’s still very confused, his mind feels like it’s spinning and like he’s light-headed. Hopefully, he wouldn’t pass out and fall directly into the water.

 

After everything is cleaned up and the used towels are in the washing machine, Stanley walks back into the bedroom, leaving Richie behind. He goes to put the book back into the drawer with shaky hands, so full of fear of what would happen. Part of him wants Richie to leave without saying anything so he wouldn’t have to deal with the situation; but the other part of him wants to talk about it, to finally tell Richie how much he means to him, how much he loves him. He locks the drawer and puts the key back under the mattress, and he doesn’t hear the footsteps getting closer.

Richie looks at Stanley’s bent-down head as he walks back up the stairs, and he feels the expected sensation of extreme guilt. He shouldn’t have looked into Stan’s private drawer, he should’ve listened to his mind when it screamed at him not to do it. But he also has hope, hope for the first time that Stan could actually feel something for him. He is scared, though, regardless of the proof he saw that Stan found him… worthy of his drawing skills. He decides to be brave and walk up the stairs, back to the room they just cleaned, back to Stan.

As he walks closer to the bedroom, he can see his friend putting the notebook back into the drawer, locking it and placing the key under the mattress. It was there all along. Right under his usual spot on the bed. Richie sees Stan’s trembling hands and feels another wave of guilt course through him. He did this. He leans against the doorframe and watches Stan sit down on the bed, the boy’s eyes focused on his own fumbling hands. After seeing a drop, two drops of water hitting the soft skin of Stan’s hands, he decides to go sit beside his friend.

They don't talk for what feels like ages to both of them.

 

“You’re a great fucking artist, Stan”

This makes Stan laugh, for some reason, and Richie smiles at seeing such a beautiful scene. Stan surely is breathtaking when he’s laughing through his tears.

“Thanks, Rich” And they fall back into a silence that is only interrupted by Stan’s small sniffs for 5 minutes.

 

“I’m sorry I looked into your drawer... and your notebook. I didn’t…”

“It’s alright, Rich. Just ask it already”

“Ask what?”

“Why I have so many drawings of you”

“Well, if you’re so eager to say it. Stan, why do you like to draw me? I know I’m gorgeous and my perfect features-” 

“Shut up, Richie,” Stan laughs again, “I mean, yes, you are very beautiful and I wanted to capture the beauty I see in you.”

Richie sits there, open-mouthed like a fish. “Wh-what?”

“I said I think you’re beautiful. No need to rub it in, asshole.”

“No, no, I just…” 

“I know. It must be so weird to have your best friend like you that way. Damnit, I know it’s kinda creepy to draw you in my free time but I… it’s hard for me to keep these feelings in, you know? I couldn’t tell anyone because I know they would’ve told you, so I poured them all out on that freaking notebook.”

“You- you have feelings for me?”

“Yes, of course I do. How could you not just come to that conclusion after seeing the drawings?”

“I just couldn’t believe that my dream had come true.”

“Um, what?”

“Oh, my god, Stanley! You’re such an idiot! Of course I love you back! You’re my best friend and the most handsome man I’ve ever seen! Shit, I’m- I can’t even believe it. You had that hidden in there for sooo long and I was sitting so close to it, to the truth! My goodness, gracious!” Richie rants, flailing his arms all around while looking at his friend.

Now it’s Stanley’s turn to just sit there, shocked to no end.

“You love me?”

Richie falters, “Shoot, you never said you loved me… Well, fuck it. Hell yeah, I love you. I have for such a long time and oh god Stan it feels so good to actually say it out loud. Can’t you feel that? It’s such an amazing feeling!” he says as he gets up and jumps a bit, still looking at Stan. 

Stan still has a red face, and tears are coming back out, only this time because of happiness and relief of not losing his best friend and having just discovered that his feelings are actually reciprocated. Richie looks back at him, his excited expression turning into one of worry.

“Stan, baby, I'm sor-”

Stan’s eyes widen at Richie’s use of baby. It made his heart explode with butterflies and his mind show a million different colors. He cuts Richie off by abruptly standing up and grabbing Richie’s shirt into fists. He pulls him in for a kiss, for a kiss that begins as a peck and then changes as Richie realizes what’s going on. Richie hugs Stan, putting one hand around his waist and one hand on his back, pulling him even closer. The kiss loses its initial force as Stan slides his hands up to caress Richie’s cheeks; it turns soft and loving, finally expressing what they both had kept hidden and what they both had wanted for what felt like years.

They separate, but stay in the embrace, close enough that Stan can feel Richie’s breath ghosting over his face. He looks into those amazing eyes, taking another mental picture of how it looks to be this close to Richie Tozier, another drawing waiting to be made. Stan waits a couple of seconds before whispering

 

“I love you too, so so much”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!!! It took me an afternoon of ignoring my responsibilities to write this saklfjsa
> 
> There's a word in french (don't worry I speak a bit of french) because for some reason I felt like it fit Stan I DONT KNOW
> 
> devoir = homework


End file.
